>>7698981
I met a artist in an /beg/ land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of doodles
Stand in the desart.[d] Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose pomperador hair andd stick figure hands, and sneer of cabal command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is ye old fred King of schizos:
Look on my oc doodles, ye Mighty, and despair!"
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.